


Like So Much Tea, It Weeps

by Nenalata



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Divine Pulse (Fire Emblem), Gen, I think about this stuff literally every battle, I've been wanting to write this for literal months, Post-Sylvain&Byleth B Support, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Social Issues, Tea Parties, This is stupid but I am also brilliant, no beta we die like Glenn, tbh glenn would thank me for writing this no I don't take criticism I'm pretty confident he would
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22797640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nenalata/pseuds/Nenalata
Summary: Byleth doesn't lack emotions even if he doesn't know how to conjure them into facial expressions. But although the Goddess provides for some more than others, the Goddess does still provide for all her children. And the Goddess has provided Byleth with a way to practice.The Goddess has provided Byleth with Divine Pulse.
Relationships: Each of them/a random servant, Sylvain Jose Gautier & My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	Like So Much Tea, It Weeps

“You’re staring at me. Is there something on my face?”

The answer was yes, but Byleth wasn’t sure how to address it. He poured the two of them more bergamot; Sylvain thanked him with enough enthusiasm Byleth didn’t know if he was acting.

“Everything’s fine.”

It was not fine. Sylvain seemed to think so, too; where he’d slouched comfortably over the tea table before, now he straightened his spine to painful-looking standards. Their relatively easy conversation stuttered to a halt.

“Gotcha.”

They sipped in silence. Sylvain kept thumbing the side of his mouth, like crumbs or icing from Byleth’s latest teacake delivery remained in the corners of his lips. ‘Guilt’ was not an emotion Byleth experienced often, but watching Sylvain grow gradually more panicked and the silence grow heavier…

Yes. This was guilt.

But he had less than no idea how to address the topic.

 _‘You’re behaving like a child,’_ Sothis would probably have chastised him. And it was true; Byleth hadn’t needed to blend his soul, his awareness, his… _being_ with hers to know when he was acting like a sulky, petty child.

Sylvain had threatened to kill him the other day and then laughed it off. This teatime was a truce of sorts; Byleth admitted he’d been surprised by Sylvain’s ready acceptance of the offer, and Sylvain had seemed just as surprised by the offer at all. Still. Maybe he could stand a little heat, much as he complained about it every time the summery sun outshone him.

But Sylvain had, as some girlfriend or friend-girl of his strolled by, made an expression Byleth very badly wanted to understand. He’d seen it before. He was sure he’d see it again. It was an expression Ingrid would chide Sylvain for making, even when he kept his mouth shut. It was an expression he’d made alongside an unsavory comment, a lewd joke. It was an expression he’d made when he’d said in a falsely-cheery tone, “The ladies _love_ a dark and brooding noble.”

Byleth had seen it before a couple times. It was something he’d been on the receiving end a few times, even; though that had mainly been in his mercenary days, at inns where plenty of intoxicated people bestowed it upon him. Now that he was a professor, these displays of—affection? They couldn’t be _affection_ if Ingrid hated when Sylvain did it—had vanished. Manuela certainly didn’t count; she was often intoxicated, too.

So, with Sylvain sitting awkwardly in front of him, clearly debating the politest way to make an escape from the professor he’d just threatened only days before, Byleth tried it out.

A twitch. Almost a blink. Not quite, though, not _quite_ …

Byleth had underestimated the difficulty of the task. His other eye just wouldn’t stay put. He tried again, and this time, his teatime partner flicked his gaze up with a half-prepared farewell: “Well—"

Sylvain reeled back in his chair. The teacup he’d been in the middle of setting down fell to the grass, expensive tea soaking the soil.

Byleth glared; yes, that was a _much_ more comfortable expression. “You spilled your tea.”

“Professor, uh,” Sylvain ignored the scolding. “Were you just _winking_ at me?”

Wink.

_Wink!_

Yes, _that_ was the term.

 _Wink_.

“I was trying,” Byleth agreed. Sylvain, if possible, stiffened more.

“Weird way to forgive a guy, don’t you think? I mean,” Sylvain’s laugh was pathetic enough to make even Byleth wince, “Okay, don’t get me wrong. You’re a good-looking man and all, but…”

Byleth’s brows pinched together. “You misunderstand me, Sylvain,” he said, refusing to apologize, remaining a _sulky child_. “I was _trying_ to wink. Not at you.”

“So…” Sylvain blinked, _not_ winked, and Byleth confessed disappointment. If he’d do it again, now that he was staring him down, it’d be easier to figure it out. Byleth knew how the human body worked. He knew the parts, the anatomy. Killing as effectively as he did demanded it.

Sylvain cleared his throat, shoving Byleth’s morbid thoughts from his mind. “So you were winking not at me, but in my…general direction?”

“Yes. That’s about it.”

“Why?”

Byleth opened his mouth, uncertain if he was willing to admit his predicament, his curiosity, but the guarded look Sylvain was giving him now didn’t entirely invite heart-to-hearts.

So Byleth did what he needed to.

He behaved like a sulky child.

The world went dark, colorful, distinctly wavering around the edges.

“You’re staring at me. Is there something on my face?”

The answer was yes, and Byleth still wasn’t sure how to address it. He poured the two of them more bergamot; Sylvain thanked him with more enthusiasm than the gesture was worth. Byleth made sure to keep the teacup farther from the edge of the table.

“Why did you wink at that girl?” he decided to ask, watching Sylvain spoon a paltry amount of sugar into his tea. Even Byleth would admit it was an out-of-nowhere question; but how else was he supposed to begin?

Sylvain seemed to think so too, sighing over the tea table where he’d previously been comfortably slouching. He rested his elbows on the table and hunched over his laced fingers, doubtlessly not a position great for his spine. Their relatively easy conversation grew familiarly tense.

“Didn’t wanna be rude,” was Sylvain’s usual light excuse. “Beautiful girl walks by, you gotta let her know you _appreciate_ her beauty, right? Even without a word. Didn’t see _you_ pay her a compliment, Professor.”

And he _winked_.

Too fast. Byleth missed it. Hadn’t been expecting it.

Byleth’s grip on his teacup tightened, and with an unseemly crack, the handle broke off and the rest of the cup dropped to the tablecloth, expensive tea soaking the fabric.

“Whoa. Everything okay there, Professor?” Sylvain nodded his head at the spilled liquid with a faint, judgmental smile gracing his lips. “You look like you wanna say something. So say it. No need to take it out on the tea.”

Byleth didn’t want to _say_ anything.

It was the corner of the lower lid, maybe…

Sylvain reeled back in his chair, jostling his own teacup enough its tea slopped over the edges into the saucer. “Professor, uh…” Sylvain didn’t react to Byleth’s disappointed sigh. “Were you just _winking_ at me?”

The world went colorfully dark, distinct and wavering around the edges.

“You’re staring at me. Is there something on my face?”

Not at the moment, no. Byleth needed to address it. He offered the teapot to Sylvain, who raised a brow but took it and poured for the two of them. Byleth left his untouched, a fact which Sylvain noticed as he brought his halfway to his lips. He waited, but when Byleth showed no further sign of drinking, he set it down.

What was the best course of action?

Sylvain rested his elbows on the table from his previously-slouched comfortable posture. The way he hunched over the tea table to peer at Byleth over his laced fingers looked painful. “Why did you invite me to tea? Is this about the other day?” he asked quietly.

Byleth reeled back in his chair, jostling his side of the tea table’s loose tablecloth. Expensive tea splashed his legs in scalding droplets.

Sylvain’s smile was sad even as his laugh was dark. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

“Just wink,” Byleth snapped. Now it was Sylvain’s turn to get splashed with boiling water as he jerked away from his side of the tea table. Byleth had no sympathy. “Do it again, that…expression. I don’t understand.”

“Just—” Sylvain’s face went white. “That’s a…weird way to forgive a guy, Professor. Don’t get me wrong, you’re a good-looking—”

The world’s colors went dark, its edges wavering distinctly.

“Surprised? Well, I do,” Sylvain laughed. “Opera, art, literature, I love ‘em. Always gives you something to…talk about.” His sentence trailed off as a servant walked by with a bundle of firewood. Now Byleth could tell her hips swayed and her muscled arms flexed with the effort of carrying her heavy baggage. And her… _baggage_.

“Are you waiting for me to say something? Because if so, I got nothing.”

Byleth whipped his head back to find Sylvain facing him again, a puzzled frown on his face. A meaningless grin was quick to appear. “Do we have the same type, Professor? Do I have some competition?”

“Did you wink at her already?” Byleth asked all in a rush. If Sylvain was startled by the question, he didn’t show it. No, he rolled his eyes.

“Of course I did. I’m a gentleman, not a barbarian, much as Ingrid says only _barbarians_ do what I do—”

The world went…it went wavering, distinct colors, dark edges around the…wavering, colorful edges…

“Surprised? Well, I do,” Sylvain laughed way too loudly for Byleth’s exhausted mind to take. “Opera, art, literature, I love ‘em. Always gives you—"

Byleth knew he only had one chance to make this right.

“Look,” he cut Sylvain off, nodding just off to the side. A servant rounded the corner of the hedge and walked towards them with a bundle of firewood. Byleth raised his brows, making _sure_ to keep his gaze trained on Sylvain’s face.

A slow, appreciative grin curled on his lips. “Nice one, Professor,” he whispered, then…and then…

He cocked his head to the side as the servant approached, caught her eye, and…and…

The corner of his left eye scrunched up only instants before the lid descended. Fast. Quick. Hardly there. His right eye remained open.

The servant ignored him, but Byleth had _not_.

As she trudged on by, struggling under the weight of her baggage, Byleth lowered his left lid and scrunched up the corner of his right eye.

No.

Wrong ones.

The servant reeled back, heel connecting with the tea table. Teacakes, tea trays, teacups, and teapot all went flying, scalding-hot expensive bergamot soaking the tablecloth, soil, and all three of their clothes.

The firewood went flying, too.

In the seconds before splintery tree bark clocked him upside the head and landed him in the hopefully-not-intoxicated Manuela’s infirmary, Byleth managed to say aloud what Sothis never would again:

“I’m behaving like a child.”


End file.
